


Sharpened Edges

by prompt_fills



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Outing, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-11
Updated: 2016-07-11
Packaged: 2018-07-16 09:36:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7262656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prompt_fills/pseuds/prompt_fills
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Corey thinks the season couldn’t get any worse for him. But then the media get their hands on a rather incriminating picture of him and it goes downhill fast from there.</p><p>At least the team is mostly awesome – just as much as the fans and media are mostly awful.</p><p>And then there’s Jonny.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sharpened Edges

**Author's Note:**

  * For [krisherdown](https://archiveofourown.org/users/krisherdown/gifts).



> Thanks to _lotionbottle_ for being my sounding board and to _seasonelements_ for betaing. Any remaining mistakes are mine.

**…**

The announcer’s voice booms through the arena, the lights go off and the crowd goes wild.

Corey can barely make out Jonny’s silhouette before his eyes adjust to the dim flashes of blue. His captain turns to him, “Ready?”

_No._

“Yes,” Corey snarls, rolling his shoulders back, straightening up. Despite the darkness, he sees rather than feels the end of Jonny’s stick poke at his shoulder. “Yeah,” he repeats, “let’s do this.”

“For the win!” Seabs croons behind them.

A streak of light follows one of their opponents around the ice as the announcer introduces him to his fans and Corey catches the expression on Jonny’s face.

Jonny can be just as intense as him.

_Weird, they call it weird._

**…**

“… and that’s all I can say about tonight’s game,” Corey finishes, wiping the sweat from his brow. The win slipped through their fingers. Again. It’s his fault and it’s Jonny’s fault and they both know it so there’s no point in trying to make it sound like it’s not.

The reporters don’t let him get off that easily and he keeps answering their repetitive questions with quickly waning patience until the reporters lay off.

A girl that kept nagging at him all night long smiles, something predatory and vicious in her eyes as she shoves the mike in his face again. “Would you like to make any _other_ comments?”

He blinks at her. “No, no other comment that comes to my mind. We’ll win the next game and we’ll make it to the play-offs, nothing else is in our focus right now.”

She beams at him and eases off, and he can’t help feeling like he somehow fucked up the answer.

Their PR guy tugs at his sleeve. “Everything okay?”

He jerks his thumb to where the journalists are disappearing through the door. “What was that about?”

“Hm? Nothing, I guess. Their usual mind games. We’ve got everything covered.” The guy adjusts his glasses, shuffles his papers, checks the watches on his wrist. “Listen, so Jessie’s got you at eleven fifteen, then it’s Mike at half past – but don’t give him more than five minutes, okay?”

Corey grunts in acknowledgement, getting his elbow stuck in his jersey as he lifts it over his head. “Just let me grab a fucking shower.”

“Eleven fifteen,” the guy stresses, then reaches over to stretch Corey’s jersey wide so Corey can free his arm. “Don’t be late again.”

“I won’t.”

The guy is gone by the time Corey reappears from the showers. Most of the team is gone by now. He quickly checks the time on his phone – he still has four minutes left – and gets dressed. Jonny is sitting at his usual spot, lost in thought. Corey can’t do much for him right now other than to give him space to brood in peace.

He finishes getting dressed, then checks his phone again and unmutes it. Two minutes. He realizes he’s no idea where he’s supposed to be meeting with Jessie. Fuck.

**…**

They travel back to Chicago late at night, the atmosphere on the bus quiet and subdued, most guys dozing off and snoring. The lights are turned off, only the emergency lighting giving pale, unnatural light. Corey is exhausted but his mind is keeping him awake – Jonny is also awake, somewhere in the rows in front of him, staring blankly at the blackened windows without seeing anything.

Corey fishes out his player and sticks the buds in his ears, unable to bear the silence. They’ve got a practise early into the afternoon and another game the following day. None of them can afford to lose their focus now or all the work they’ve done since the season has started would be for nothing.

The battery gives up on him before they reach the city. He leaves the earbuds in and keeps watching the night as they ride, the soft echo of the last song he’s listened to on a loop in his ears.

**…**

Jonny appears by his side when they get out of the bus. He has his bag hauled over his shoulder and he doesn’t have to say anything to get Corey to invite him over. They have a little routine practised by now, which says a lot about how their season has been going.

They move around each other mostly in silence, but by the time Corey puts his bag in place and changes, Jonny is already done with his shower, sitting in the living room in front of a blackened TV screen.

Corey lets him be for now, disappearing into the kitchen to fix them a shake. Two apples, kiwis, oranges, mint leaves from the small potted plant Jonny appeared with one day, three slices of fresh ginger root and a banana that is about to go bad. He pours in some water into the mixer and gets the glasses.

Jonny is still staring at nothing, haunted look in his eyes. Corey comes close, nudges Jonny’s legs with his knee and gives him one glass. “Drink,” he commands. “When you’re done, get the film started. I want to actually see how it ends this time.”

Corey needs to feel like there is something he can do. Those small, manageable tasks are ideal. Something simple over which he has a full control. It’s neither calming nor helping but it occupies his mind enough that he doesn’t fall apart.

He finishes his own shake in a few gulps, waits for Jonny to take a sip.

“Have you called your mum back yet?”

Jonny shakes his head, sets the unfinished drink at the table.

“You should,” Corey mutters. “Any idea what she wanted?”

“No,” Jonny croaks, probably the first word since the post-game interviews.

Corey turns to shut the blinds, switches on the lamp, adjust it to a dim light. “Call her before the practise, okay?”

“Mm-hmm.” Jonny isn’t wording any promises he’s not going to keep. Corey wouldn’t be nagging Jonny about his mum but he’d seen the look on her face when she watched Jonny after one of the last games. Concern, worry and remorse. A mixture familiar enough for Corey to catch up on it.

“Bottoms up,” Corey says instead, taking the glass and forcing it into Jonny’s hand again. He towers over Jonny for long, silent minutes until he finishes drinking. Corey pries the glass away from his fingers and goes back into the kitchen to put both their glasses in the dishwasher. “The film,” he calls, knowing Jonny is about to slip into his unhappy contemplation again.

He makes a brief stop in the guest bedroom to make sure everything is ready for Jonny to crash in, then he returns to the living room.

Jonny has put the film in and the opening menu is on display, the music on an endless loop.

With a sigh, Corey settles next to him. He’s tired but not sleepy. The film should help them both. “Press play.”

The film is captivating enough to keep his mind from wandering, but not captivating enough to drown out an annoyingly familiar clipping noise that starts soon after.

Corey turns his head and sure enough, Jonny has his thumb against his lips, teeth sinking into a hangnail and trying to nip it off.

Corey catches his hand and lowers it down to Jonny’s lap. “Stop it.”

Jonny obeys for a while, returning to watch the film, but then he’s at it again.

“Should I get you scissors?”

Jonny lets his hand drop. “Sorry,” he says softly.

Squeezing his eyes shut, Corey leans his head back against the couch and reaches out to squeeze Jonny’s shoulder without looking. “Don’t be,” he chokes out.

Jonny lets out a shaky breath but he doesn’t shy away from the touch so Corey keeps his hand where it is.

After a moment Jonny leans into Corey and Corey goes with it, pulling Jonny closer until they rest comfortably against each other.

The calm beat of Jonny’s heart is monotonous, grounding.

Corey feels the exact moment Jonny falls asleep – his body relaxes for the first time since the game ended. Jonny settles with one long exhale.

Corey can be a very selfish man. He slowly wraps his other arm around Jonny, eloping Jonny in his warmth, stealing moments he couldn’t otherwise have.

As the credit sequence rolls, he’s comfortable, warm and Jonny is breathing heavily into the side of his neck. Corey gives himself several more minutes before feelings of responsibility take over.

“Jonathan,” Corey whispers into Jonny’s ear, so soft and quiet it’s mostly a series hissing sounds, completely undistinguishable one from the other. He repeats the name three more times.

Corey straightens up and shakes himself a bit more awake. It works for a few minutes. Those moments of focus and clarity are enough to get Jonny up – if not quite awake – and make him move into the guest bedroom. Jonny clings to Corey’s side as they make their way through the apartment, muttering soft protests as they go.

Corey nearly trips them over the bag Jonny has flung right behind the door.

“D’t go,” Jonny protests when Corey peels himself away, managing to recapture one of Corey’s arms in his grip.

The bed is wide enough and right here. Corey is dead on his feet. And his bed is all the way down the cold hallway across his apartment.

It’s an easy choice.

**…**

Corey wakes up earlier than Jonny – as he usually does – and keeps his eyes closed for a few precious moments, listening to the long, relaxed puffs of breath that come very close to his ear. When his alarm clock goes off somewhere deeper in his apartment, Corey gets out of the bed with a resigned sigh.

Waking up with Jonny around is always harder on him than on Jonny. Jonny seems completely unaffected and unaware, never making any fuss. Being so close is incredibly tantalizing but it helps – the breathing means he’s not alone, the warmth of the touch anchors him. The little convulsive twitches of Jonny’s fingers that somehow always end up draped over Corey’s chest ease the feeling of loneliness and don’t let him fall into the dark pit of despair and self-blame.

He finds his phone in the living room, swipes the alarm on silent and tries to collect his thoughts as he heads to his actual bedroom.

Once dressed, Corey returns to the guestroom and mercilessly opens the blinds. The warm sun streaking into the room causes Jonny to throw his arm over his face, shading his eyes and grunting in annoyance.

“Get your ass up, hup, hup!”

Jonny rasps a barely intelligible, “Gimme five.” He grabs the blanket and pulls it up past his shoulders.

Corey allows himself a smile as he snatches the blanket away from Jonny. “I’d give you ten if I didn’t know you’d be even more impossible if I let you snooze.”

“You’re so fucking mean,” Jonny grumbles sleepily, sitting up on the bed.

“That’s not mean, that’s responsible.”

Jonny yawns and stretches, then feels around blearily for his phone. “Did I–?”

“In the living room,” Corey answers. “You were dead on your feet. Be glad I got you into a bed.”

Corey snaps his mouth shut the moment the words leave his lips, glad it’s too early into the morning for Jonny to notice Corey colouring slightly at the unfortunate wording.

Jonny swings his legs over the edge of the bed, shivering when his feet touch the ground. “What’s the time?”

“Past nine. You have fifteen minutes if we want to stop by your place before brunch.”

“Now, _that’s_ mean,” Jonny groans, falling back into the mattress with a bounce.

Corey doesn’t say anything, just holds his hands high above his head so Jonny sees him from his angle, and taps his wrist with his forefinger where his watches would be.

He makes it three steps to the door, then ducks on instinct and the pillow bounces harmlessly off the doorframe and into the hallway. Corey sends it back into the guestroom with one precise kick.

“One of these days,” Jonny mutters darkly, “one of these days.”

**…**

Artemi and Patrick are at it again during the practise, their raised voices carrying over to the other side of the ice. Some of the guys raise their heads and look at them with amused expressions but Corey’s eyes bore into Jonny, taking in his guarded gaze, rigid posture, tightened grip on his stick. Jonny isn’t even trying not to stare at the arguing duo and Corey knows how desperately he’d like to take sides. Corey also knows Jonny won’t take sides, he can tell by the way Jonny’s lip tightens into a narrow line.

Jonny finally tears his eyes away, turning, catching Corey staring. Jonny frowns, lifts his chin defiantly and continues with the drills.

Corey doubles his efforts not to let a single puck past him during the practise because he doesn’t want to give Jonny a reason for another lecture. Not like Jonny needs any reasons.

He’s taking a break by the boards with Scott, both of them getting instructions from their coach. He doesn’t see Shawzy and Seabs horsing around, trying to shoot one puck in the air and then hit it with another one before it falls to the ice. He would have seen it coming. But he doesn’t.

The puck Shawzy managed to hit is sent flying and it hits him from side to his neck. It’s not at full force and the shock is probably the worst part of it. Corey doubles over, the unexpected pain overwhelming him for a few moments. He makes to grab the boards, misses them with his hands but finds them with his face instead. He still feels like he can’t breathe when Scott hauls him up, keeping him standing and helping him stumble through the gate and sit on the bench.

The coaches are furious, the guys keep sending them apologetic glances from across the ice.

By the end of the practise, Corey’s vision stops swimming each time he turns his head. Marginally.

**…**

Hours after the practise, Jonny’s shoulders are still a tense line. It’s the frozen posture and the way he’s carefully not turning around to look at the entrance door that tell Corey Jonny’s has heard him enter his house and step into the room. He isn’t saying anything which is fine by Corey; he’s not inclined to say anything either. It’s enough that when he sinks down onto the sofa, so close to Jonny that their sides are brushing, Jonny doesn’t try to lean away.

He waits long minutes before he sees Jonny’s shoulders unclench, the smallest of movements Corey sees because he’s been waiting for it. Then he sneaks a hand around Jonny’s shoulders and pulls him down against his chest. Jonny freezes again, and Corey waits patiently for Jonny to relax.

The team couldn’t pull it together for the game and they were still off beat today at the practise and Corey knows Jonny didn’t fail to notice the poor performance.

Corey’s hand is pressing against the side of Jonny’s neck and his fingers start to play with Jonny’s hair on their own accord.

He cards through Jonny’s hair, thumb rubbing slowly up and down, deliberate, unhurried strokes massaging the skull. The hair is soft as silk, different texture than his own unruly curls that tend to get wild when wet.

The film Jonny was – not – watching is playing on the background.

Corey doesn’t even notice when his hand travels up to stroke the shell of Jonny’s ear, tracing the edge in a feathery-light touch. Jonny notices, though, a shiver running down his spine. He dislodges Corey and smacks his hand away.

Pulling even further away, Jonny asks, “Are you playing tomorrow?”

“Of course,” Corey answers quickly. _I shouldn’t._

Jonny gets up and starts pacing back and forth. “You don’t know,” Jonny says, voice hoarse, “what it’s like.”

“No, I don’t,” he murmurs, placating.

_Yes, I do._

**…**

They lose the home game, too.

Some of the seats are already empty long before the end of the third period.  
Jonny is trying hard – not to win but to pretend.

If the team catches a faintest shadow of doubt in his eyes, if he hesitates and lets them see the truth even momentarily, it’s all over.

Jonny doesn’t have to pretend with him – they both see it the same way, neither can let the team down but both know the team is not getting anywhere. Crow is a realist.

They couldn’t get off the ice fast enough. Get off the ice, shower, deal with the bloody interviews, get home and forget this stupid game ever happened.

Lightheaded, he reaches for Jonny, tugs until Jonny is pressed to him and gives him a shake. Jonny scoffs, a tight, unhappy sound, and closes his eyes.

When he opens them again, they are no longer expressive but carefully schooled, calm and composed, focused. Corey squeezes his shoulder, tightens the grip momentarily before letting go and skating to the bench, sure Jonny will follow.

“Come by tonight?”

“Okay.”

**…**

Jonny doesn’t get to come by that night. Too many things happen instead.

Corey is scheduled for an interview with Erik and Hoss and at first everything goes as usual, they discuss how much they’ve been sucking lately and make promises to suck less. But then.

One of the reporters steps closer, handing him a picture Corey takes from her automatically. Her smile is vicious. “Could you comment on that?”

Corey is sure his face is doing a ridiculous grimace of shock and panic.

It’s not like he’s never told anyone he’s gay. Most of his close family knows, but hardly anyone else.

He doesn’t talk about it, he’s not shoving it to everyone’s faces. He wouldn’t call it hiding, he’s just being discreet because he knows how nasty things could get when they don’t need to. He doesn’t owe anyone any explanations. What’s private is private.

He doesn’t want to be a face of a campaign, he doesn’t want to be known as the gay one. He just wants to play and be recognized for his achievements. He’s underrated enough as it is.

Corey has been discreet and so bloody careful about who he is with that the picture is a huge fuck you to his face.

The picture was taken through a window – Corey can already see the lawsuit brewing but it won’t help him any – and it doesn’t show all that much. But it’s more than enough to screw his life.

The photo is a clear shot of Corey kissing a guy. The guy is mostly obscured by Corey’s body but it’s clear it’s a male body, someone lean and young, of basically the same height. It’s the guy from New York from two months ago. The curtains are drawn but there is a crack through which the two of them are at display. Corey doesn’t doubt that a sequence of pictures that capture the whole kiss and good knows what else was taken as well.

The picture is getting crumpled in his hands and the reporter waits impatiently for his downfall. “No, no comments.” His voice cracks.

Hoss is puzzled by Corey’s reaction, he leans in close to take a look at the picture and Erik follows his suit.

Ashen, Corey jerks the picture away face down but he knows they all saw it. And soon, everyone’s going to see it.

Corey can feel the walls closing around him. The ringing in his ears is deafening and he has this weird sensation of detachment to the whole situation. He sways a little into Hoss, who holds them up, throwing an arm around Corey and swaying them purposefully a little to the left and right, making Corey’s stomach revolt.

Hoss’ eyes narrow, his expression grows solemn. There is no mirth in his eyes and no smile curling his lips upwards.

“I would like to make a statement,” Hoss says into the quiet room, his voice even. Corey’s throats tightens. He isn’t getting enough oxygen in his lungs.

“I’m straight.” The murmuring starts again but Hoss goes on. “I’m in love with a woman. I even married her,” he says, wiggling his ring finger up for the cameras to snap some pictures. “Since you think you’re entitled to know.”

Corey can’t breathe.

Erik sits up from his slouch and leans closer to the microphone. “Oh, yeah. If you feel like there needs to be a statement, then I feel obliged to say I’m also straight.”

By that time, the PR people are already there, angrily dismissing the conference and saying angry things. Corey doesn’t hear any of that. His ears are ringing and he can’t breathe and his career is ending with a whimper.

Hoss nudges him to get him going and Corey gets up on his feet, looks at Hoss and doesn’t know what to say.

The picture is plastered everywhere a few minutes later, with a caption that he ‘refused to comment on it’.

**…**

The next couple of days are a blur.

He doesn’t join the team for the road trip and he doesn’t play in the next games. Officially, it’s because of a non-specified upper-body injury sustained during a free practise.

He is a little woozy but he doubts Shawzy’s stray puck had anything to do with it. He feels nauseated in general and he is barely aware of the days passing by. He switches off his phone and doesn’t check his mail.

He watches their games on the TV which is always a painful experience. The fans are holding up awful banners and chanting things Corey doesn’t want to remember. He’s not even playing.

On his table, there is a neat pile of papers with a YCP proposal for him someone from the PR brought him. Corey couldn’t make himself go through it yet.

He wants to hole up and wait until the news gets old and some new scandal steals the spotlight from him but by this rate, it won’t happen any time this century.

He dreads facing the press again.

**…**

Corey is allowed to rejoin the team for a morning skate after two weeks of the torture. He’s getting out of his car when he spots Jonny across the parking lot. He calls out but strangely it doesn’t catch Jonny’s attention.

He grabs his bag, locks the car and hurries after Jonny but his path is crossed by a fan dressed in a Hawks’ jersey.

“You’re disgusting,” the man snarls, throwing his drink at Corey.

“What the fuck!” Corey yelps, trying to jump out of the way of the flying can of Coke. It hits his chest and sloshes on his clothes.

His cry catches Jonny’s attention. Jonny glances over his shoulder, then turns his head back as if the scene didn’t register with him and disappears into the building.

The man uses a few more truly unoriginal insults before he gets moving.

Corey wishes he didn’t have to deal with _any_ of that.

One of the few things that keep him going is the support he gets from the team. It’s humbling and it’s heart-warming. Hoss starts a series of ‘the straight statements’ as the media takes to calling them. At every occasion, someone from the team would step up and pompously declare their orientation, never forgetting to add a jab of ‘since you think it’s required for people to tell you’.

“Since they expected a public statement from you, I’m making one, too,” Duncs says when Corey asks.

“You don’t have to do this.”

Duncs taps Corey’s head patronizingly. “We do. We really do.”

The series of announcements makes the media livid which is probably also why the guys agree to make them. It’ a sweet bonus is that it makes some fans voice their support. There are letters that the team gives him, already opened and selected to make sure Corey doesn’t read anything upsetting by accident.

By the end of the month, Corey starts hoping he will survive this.

**…**

Jonny is basically the only one who hasn’t said anything yet. His captain and his goddamn friend hasn’t made a statement and hasn’t commented on the situation in the locker room even though everyone else has been busy showing how much okay with Corey they are.

Even worse than that, it doesn’t take long for Corey to figure out that Jonny is actively avoiding him. And whenever they have to interact, Jonny is doing his best to ignore him completely.

Jonny’s indifference hurts because out of all the people, it was Jonny he ever considered telling. Now he’s glad he didn’t. He’s having hard time adjusting to the thought of judging his so-called friend wrong.

Corey goes from disappointment to anger pretty fast.

He keeps glaring at Jonny over the ice but Jonny is too busy ogling Patrick to notice.

Corey is done with Jonny’s attitude. If he’s got a problem, he’s going to have to say it to his face. If Jonny wants to be an idiot about this, then fine, Corey will accept that and learn to let go. But the nervous anticipation is the worst.

He waits for Jonny after the skate is over, blocks his path and refuses to be dismissed.

He tries to smile and keep his tone light. “Would you like to stop by? I can give you a lift.”

“Not today, thanks,” Jonny says, tone equally light, like nothing fucking happened, like it’s normal for him to keep turning Corey down.

Corey’s hand flies up and he gives Jonny a shove. “Not today, sure. Not tomorrow either, eh? Or the day after that. What’s so fucking different now? You’re no longer my friend just because you _know_?”

Jonny doesn’t look like he’s going to pick up a fight with Corey. He looks really tired, actually. “No, that’s not it,” Jonny huffs.

“No? Because you could have fooled me,” Corey hisses.

Jonny rubs at the nape of his neck, then looks around the room, then back at Corey. “Okay, okay. Your place.”

The drive is silent. Corey is willing to give Jonny that much before he picks up their argument anew.

**…**

Behind the closed door of his apartment, Corey crosses his arms and pierces Jonny with a pointed look. “Why haven’t you said anything?”

While watching Jonny watching Patrick during the skate, he got a sneaking suspicion Jonny hasn’t made his ‘straight statement’ because he isn’t straight. But that could be just a wistful thinking on his part and Jonny could actually just be that disgusted with Corey. Either way, Corey needs to know for sure.

“Why haven’t I said anything,” Jonny repeats. He sinks into his favourite spot on Corey’s sofa. “You have no idea what position you put me in.”

“Jonny, I–”

“No, you really don’t, so shut up and listen. Did you think about what it would do to them?” He’s pointing at Corey’s framed pictures of the team.

“Yes, of course, I–”

Jonny stomps to the pictures and holds up one frame in particular. “I meant to them,” Jonny says, waiving the picture at Corey.

It’s a recent one, of Patrick and Artemi goading each other to stuff more grapes into their mouths.

“With my and Pat’s history? Everyone’s going to assume things,” Jonny continues unenthusiastically.

Corey looks sharply into his eyes, tries to see what’s not being said, the admission of Jonny’s unrequited crush Corey always thought he saw.

“It would be even worse for Artemi,” Corey acknowledges.

Jonny lets out a long breath, doesn’t say anything for a moment. Corey doesn’t know what he could say so he just waits Jonny out.

“It’s just not fair. I know Hossa meant well, but my parents don’t know. Look, I’m not gay, I’m bi, so there was never any reason to tell them and complicate things.”

Never any reason – never anyone worth the shitstorm, Corey muses, not sure what the accompanying pang in his chest means.

“And if I say anything now – have you thought about how long it would take for someone to look at that sodding picture and come up with another fan-fucking-tastic theory?”

Corey doesn’t know where Jonny is going with this. “Um,” he says. “What theory?”

Jonny pinches the bridge of his nose in exasperation. “It could have been me,” he says and Corey’s brain goes offline for a moment. “The same height, the same build – people will think we’ve been having an affair for god knows how long and you won’t persuade them otherwise. I mean, the guy really looked similar.”

“Yeah,” Corey croaks. “Obviously I have a type.”

Jonny goes perfectly still. “Crow,” he says warningly after a pause.

Corey glances down at his feet, gulps, then chuckles nervously. “What?”

“Don’t joke about this.”

“I wouldn’t,” Corey assures him, which earns him another scrutinizing look from Jonny.

“Well,” Jonny drawls, “it could stop the rumours about Pat – and Artemi, by extension. If we say we’ve been dating for years.”

Corey gapes at him, mind racing. All he manages to say is, “Your mum is going to kill you.”

“She’ll finally stop pestering me with the questions. She’s been suspicious anyway and kept asking me about – erm. Well, you know.”

“Oh my God,” Corey breathes out.

“I get it was an awful sweet gesture from Hoss and the guys but I just – I thought I wasn’t ready to come out myself and it would feel wrong to lie and then regret it in the future if I actually wanted to tell anyone about being bi. I was put in quite the spot.”

“You don’t need to do anything, you know,” Corey reminds him. “It’s not your problem.”

“No, I need to do this,” Jonny waves his hand. “I’ll make the statement. Say I’m bi and that I’ve been dating you since my second season here in Chicago.”

He sounds determined.

“Jonny,” Corey starts but Jonny’s raised finger shuts him up.

“And you’re going to back me up on it if anyone gets nasty.”

Corey manages a smile. “Of course.”

If Jonny thinks this way his statement for the media will hurt less, he’s more than happy to go with the lie. For Corey, it won’t be that much of a stretch anyway.

At least people would stop bugging Jonny about his… about Patrick.

Corey would bide his time. Jonny is bound to stop wanting impossible things and realize who’s really been there for him all along. Corey will make sure it happens sooner rather than later.

“Good,” Jonny nods, squaring his shoulders. “Let’s get this done with.”

“Let’s get this started,” Corey corrects him.

**…**

Things are looking better during the next game. They still lose but at least it feels like the team managed to find their regular rhythm.

Corey is waiting anxiously in the next room, ready to punch faces if Jonny doesn’t make it back from the press conference soon.

Someone from the board gets him an iced drink and tries to keep him busy by forcing him to read through and sign a sickening amount of paperwork he’s been avoiding for the past weeks. 

When Jonny finally emerges, after what feels like an eternity, he looks a little out of it, so Corey is on him that instant, pulling him in for a hug.

“Mum’s going to expect you to come home with me,” Jonny says to his ear. “Her and half the hockey world.”

It’s one of the sneakiest invites he’s ever gotten. “That’s… that’s okay.” More than okay. Corey rests his chin on Jonny’s shoulder, twisting his head a little from side to side, teasingly tickling Jonny’s neck with his overgrown hair.

“Good.”

Corey feigns a heavy sigh. “It was going to be a boring summer anyway. PR suggested I lay low.”

“No arguments here.” Jonny pokes his ribs but shows no signs of wanting to move, so Corey clings tightly to him, not sure anymore who is supposed to be comforting who.

_Liar._


End file.
